I don't really like parties all that much anyway
by Kelmin
Summary: Complete!    Tag for "Surprise!"  Season 4, episode 6 .  If you've just been blown up in a gas explosion, and you're in traction, you're not gonna want to party. Johnny's POV. T for language and situations.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Tag for "Surprise!" (Season 4, episode 6 – Johnny and Roy are planning a surprise birthday party for Dixie, but Johnny doesn't get to go because he gets caught in a gas explosion and ends up in traction). The ending just didn't sit right with me. If you're busted up bad enough to be in traction, you're not going to be feeling as good as Johnny was that same day. Plus, when Brackett, Early, Dixie, and Roy came in at the end, the characters seemed awkward, and it seemed weird that the other guys weren't there if they'd just been at Rampart anyhow for Dixie's party. So here's what needs to happen next.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I don't make a dime. I just let them out for air. Preston Wood wrote the episode; the situations and dialog up through "thanks for the surprise" are his.

**I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway**

**Chapter 1.**

Boring. Boring, boring, boring. I suppose any magazine would be boring if you're hurting so bad you can't get through one paragraph of one article. But if I don't try to read, I hear the blast – over, and over, and over. How come I can remember that?

I know Lopez and Cap pulled me out, but I don't remember _that_. I know Roy splinted up my busted leg – and I'm _real_ sure I would've remembered _that_ if I hadn't still been out. And I know he rode in with me in the ambulance – I don't think I'll be able to forget my own screams waking me up, or the look on Roy's face, either. Maybe someday they'll come up with a really good painkiller that they can give to busted-up folks who've also had a whack on the head. Not today, though. I didn't care if I lived or died, up till the point when Brackett finally was able to pop me with some MS. I don't see why he had to wait so long – I can tell you my respirations were definitely NOT depressed. IV morphine makes me puke – but I'm not complainin'.

And here I am, me and my magazine. _Popular Mechanics_: if I hold it up just right, I can't see my leg, and I can't see the cast, or the traction wires, or the pulleys. Is there a way I could hold up the magazine so I can stop thinking about what the bone looked like, jutting out through my skin? I didn't really want to see my own tibia – no thanks. It was yellow – orange, really, with all the blood. Okay, stop it, Gage.

Maybe I'll see if I can get some music up here. Can I play it loud enough to not hear that blast? How about the screaming? Probably not – my throat's still sore from that. Worth a try, though. If any of the guys can pull themselves away from Dixie's party, I'll see about some tunes.

Speak of the devil.

"Hi, how ya doin'?" Roy asks, too brightly.

"Fine!" _Liar_. "How'd it go?"

"Great! I think everybody that works at this hospital turned up at one time or another. Ate every speck of that food. Even got in a little dancing. Too bad you missed it."

Roy said _that_ awful fast – of _course_ I missed the dancing.

"Yeah, well, I don't really like parties all that much anyway." _Liar, liar, leg on fire._

Awkward pause. He can't wait to not have to look at me. I'll bet he leaves.

"Yeah. Well, look, I gotta be going."

See?

Should I bother with the magazine? Nope, didn't think so. Shit, moving like that was really a mistake. Next time just put it down normal-like.

"Heads up!"

Everyone's talking at once. Who's here? Roy – he's back! Maybe he's not totally freaked after all. Dixie, and Brackett's pushing her wheelchair. Early, looking tired. Cake? Do they think I can _eat_ that? Tape player? Now there's a thought. How loud can I turn it up without getting in trouble? Probably not loud enough. Okay, have to make nice. What should I say?

"Thanks for the surprise," Dixie and I said at the same time. Everyone laughed awkwardly – even Roy. Are they _that_ uncomfortable? Do I look _that_ bad?

"Hey Roy," I asked, "are the rest of the guys coming up?" I knew something was off if they weren't gonna show.

"Yeah, they're just cleaning up. Joanne and the kids are on their way up, if you're up for a visit."

"Sure I am!" _No, I'm not!_ "I wouldn't deprive those kids of gettin' to see their Uncle Johnny, now, would I?"

Am I decent? Pretty much. Let's just adjust that sheet. Damn. How can one foot itch so much?

Commotion at the door. "Hey Gage! No, don't get up," said Chet. Ha, ha. Cap, Stoker, Marco. Everyone's here. Crap, what an itch in that foot! Feels like ants. And giants, with great big hammers, pounding on my leg, too, in perfect time with my pulse.

"Uncle Johnny! Uncle Johnny!"

"Wow," breathed Chris, "mom wasn't kidding when she said you got hurt. You look _awful_!" Yeah, mouths of babes. At least someone's being honest.

"Uncle Johnny, look what I brought!" said Jenny. She held up a fat red crayon. "When Bobby Hutchins broke his arm, we all got to draw on his cats. Can I draw on your cats?"

"NO! Don't touch it!" Ooops, didn't mean to yell at sweet Jenny. "Sorry, honey, it's just that, um, this isn't my _real_ cast."

"Yeah, sweetie, this one is just till the swelling goes down. In a couple days, they'll cut this one off and he'll get one he can keep for a while," Roy explained.

"That's right," Dr. Early told her, "And then I'll bet he'll be happy to have a picture from his favorite artist, right John?"

"Sure thing, Jenny. In a couple of days." Goddamned buzzing bees on my foot now. Course they're nothing compared to the chainsaw at work halfway up my shin bone.

"Well, some of us have got to get back to work," said Brackett. "Dix, do you want to stay here for a while, or shall I wheel you back to your room?"

"Oh, I think I can stay here a while longer. Kel, why don't you move me up by John's head," she requested, "so we don't have to shout across the room."

"OK, Dix. Well, bye, John, take care." Brackett and Early head back to their own floor.

Lookit her, she's in a wheelchair herself, and she can still get that mother hen look on like a pro. She's got my number, yup. Nobody notices when she takes my hand, my wrist – taking my pulse. Chet's busy doing somethin' stupid with Stoker, and Marco's telling Chris all about the exploding building, and Roy's talkin' to Joanne. Cap's lettin' Jenny draw in that little notebook he always has in his shirt pocket.

The bees are getting worse. Stinging, now; not just buzzing. Chainsaw's revving up. Are those pain meds wearing off already? Fat lot of good they were doing, anyhow.

Dix whispers to me, "115, Johnny, and you're cold and sweating. Are you doing okay?"

Moment of truth. I whisper back, "Dix, I'm really hurtin'. Can you get the kids outta here somehow before I lose it?"

"Sure thing, John." She looks over to Joanne. "Joanne?" she asks, in that voice that grown-ups know means something's serious, but kids don't. "I was thinking my roommate would really like to meet the kids. How about you three come on over to my place for a while?" She pointed towards me, gesturing a thumbs-down where the kids couldn't see.

Joanne looked at me, and said brightly, "Okay, kids, let's go help Miss McCall get to her room. Who's going to push?"

"Me! Me!" The kids rush over for the privilege of pushing the wheelchair. "Bye Uncle Johnny!" I try to wave, but can't unclench my fists from the sheets. They don't notice – good.

"Hey Roy?" I manage to ask. He's figured it out, now, too. He's checking my toes. I can't see 'em – cold and blue, or hot and red? Pretty sure warm and pink isn't on the menu today. "Hand me that pillow over there, will ya?"

Chet's right by the empty bed, so he grabs the pillow instead. "Here ya go, Gage, where do you want it?"

I manage to unclench my hands, finally. "Just hand it to me!" I plead. He does. I cover my face with it, and finally, finally, I scream, and I sob.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I don't make a dime. I just let them out for air. 

I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway

Chapter 2.

How to tell when you've really lost it? When you don't even _care_ that you've lost it in front of all of A-shift. I'm bawling like a baby, and I don't give a shit. Roy made me give up my screaming pillow – he wanted me to breathe or something, I guess. If I cover my face with my hands, nobody can hear me scream, right?

Cap's got me, I think – holding me down so I don't hurt myself.

"Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por Johnny..." Marco. He's a softy. Stoker, too – have to find out if he puked when he saw my leg. Heh heh.

Cold on the back of my hand. A needle stick – feels like nothing. A rush.

.

.

.

Better. Yes, nurse, I believe it _is_ time for an IV. Don't really know why I didn't have one in the first place. Who cares.

But something's definitely not right with this leg. Who's the ortho guy again? I don't know, but I love him. He knocked me out to set this thing. Hey lookee, there he is! But first, as dear old auntie used to say, Hasten, Jason, fetch a basin...

Oops, slop, get a mop. Crap, that hurt. Not much left in there anyhow.

"Sorry doc. Ralpher."

"It's okay, Mr. Gage. I'm going to get you something for that nausea. It will make you very sleepy, but should help with the vomiting. Ah, nurse, 25 mg phenergan in that IV, push extremely slowly please, and flush with normal saline."

"Yes, Doctor."

"Mr. Gage?"

.

.

.

"Mr. Gage? Can you open your eyes?"

Who, me?

.

.

.

"Johnny? C'mon, junior." Roy?

Yep, Roy.

"Tired."

"I know, pal. I know."

"Mr. Gage, I'm Dr. Henry from orthopedics. It looks like you're having some trouble with circulation below your fracture site. When I reduced the fracture in the ER, I did have some concerns about this possibility. It could be that the swelling has made the cast too tight, or it could be something vascular. At this point, we need to get the cast off, to get a better idea of what's going on. Do you understand?"

"Yep. Toes. Blue. Leg, uh, huzzshrl." Blah, blah, blah, yeah, I get it.

"What about your leg, Johnny?" Sheesh, Roy can't even understand me.

"...hurts-like-hell." There.

"I'm sure it does – you had a nasty compound fracture just a few hours ago. If your partner here hadn't done such an excellent splinting job, it could've been a lot worse, too."

"Tha's muh buddy." Did I just giggle?

"OK, gentlemen, I'm going to have Mr. Gage in the casting room for a while. Is there someone from his family who you would want to stay here tonight?"

Silence.

"Because we can put a family member in the other bed, just for tonight. Mr. Gage here is going to be pretty out of it, and we're short-staffed tonight on the ortho floor, and I think he could really use –"

"Uh, Doc, we're kind of it." Love my guys, I jus' love 'em.

"That's fine – it can be one of you, but I don't think the nursing staff would be happy about having your whole crew here."

"Uh, doc, I'll get my wife and kids home while you're getting that cast off, and then I'll come back and stay. Our shift is off for the next three days, so we can trade off. Captain Stanley and I both have medical power of attorney, too."

"Good man, DeSoto." Oh captain, my captain. "Call us, will you, in the morning? I'll come and spell you then – we don't have any plans this weekend."

"you guyzrthbest."

"OK, let's get you over to the casting room – We'll make this ride as smooth as possible."

I don't care. Jus lemme go to sleep. Jus wanna wake up with both legs still on.

**TBC**

A/N: Thanks for all the reads & reviews on Ch. 1! Keep 'em coming! This is apparently a great fandom to write in!

Up next: What happens in the casting room? Also: yes, I quoted Walt Whitman, but no, this story will not get slashy. Johnny's just a bit maudlin right now.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I don't make a dime. I just let them out for air. I'll try to put them back the way I found them. Mostly.

I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway

Chapter 3.

"Are the sandbags supporting that knee? We don't want any movement there."

CRACK! CRUNCH!

Hell is that noise?

Yeah, thought someone took a chainsaw to my leg.

KHKHKHKHKHKHBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZ. Crack.

"Okay, it's open. Let's just get the top off so I can see what's going on in there. Okay, really careful cutting the padding around the stitches. Great."

Ahh, finally some peace and quiet.

.

.

.

Hey, quit that poking! Hm, don't think he heard that.

"stoppit"

"Sorry, Mr. Gage, I know this is very uncomfortable."

What's he doing, anyhow?

"doin'?"

"Mr. Gage, please try not to talk." Hey, she's got a nice voice. Hell are they _doing_ to my leg?

"wha... cha _**doin**_'?"

"hur's... more 'n jus' busted... real fucked up."

"Mr. GAGE!" Maybe not so nice.

"It's all right, nurse. Mr. Gage, sometimes with a serious fracture such as yours, there's bleeding or swelling inside a muscle – inside the lining of the muscle, where the fluid can't get out on its own. If there's too much pressure, the circulation can be compromised."

oh god oh god oh god don't take my leg off

"gonna lose th' leg?"

"That would be a possible complication, but no, we caught it in good time."

"Mr. Gage, you need to try to stop moving."

Leggo my hands. Gotta hide.

OK, _definitely _not so nice. Try not to hit 'er though.

Face is wet. Least it's not in front of the guys.

"Okay, yep, that's what I thought - it's the lateral compartment. The tibia ruptured the anterior compartment, but there's definitely pressure in the lateral compartment. Mr. Gage, I need to make an incision on the side of your calf to let the pressure out. It shouldn't have to be too big, because we caught this really fast."

"'kay." Just what I need is to be cut up some more. Throat's so sore. Gotta try not to yell.

Ow. Only a couple little stings. Not so bad. Huh. Easy. I'm tough.

"Okay, lidocaine in. Betadine prep please."

Oh. That was just the local. Heh heh.

"Okay, Mr. Gage? Can you feel this?"

"feel wha?" Wish he'd stop sayin' "okay" all the time.

"How about this?"

"nope."

"Okay, you should just feel some pressure now. Let me know if this gets uncomfortable. Nurse, scalpel." Stupid "okay" again.

"There's the fascia, and, okay, it's open now. Sponge... good, not too much bleeding. Looks good."

Not from here it doesn't. Shit, wish I hadn't looked. Least there's no bone stickin' out this time. Skinny ugly leg though. Must be true – Kelly says.

"Okay, nurse, let's close the skin. Sutures please. No, the 4-0 silk. Watch out, don't bump the bed-"

I didn't think I had any screamin' left in me. Wrong again.

"Hang on, Mr. Gage. Okay, 2 more milligrams MS, IV push. For his weight that's really all we can

.

.

.

"Mr. Gage?"

.

.

.

"John Gage, it's Dr. Henry. I need you to wake up, okay?"

" 's not." It's _not_ okay. Really.

"Mr. Gage? Can you hear me? Okay, ah, nurse, he's really down deep. We're going to have to keep a close eye on him if he can't wake up. Monitor his respirations for the next

.

.

.

Getcher knuckles off my sternum.

"wha..."

"Johnny? Come on, you need to open your eyes." Roy?

"Lice." Not what I meant.

"What's that, Junior?"

"Lights. Too much."

"All right, let me dim that for you. Better?"

"yeah...thought you wen' home."

"Well, I came back. Two hours ago. You've really been out."

"Roy?"

"I'm still here."

" 's not."

"Huh? Do you want a tissue?"

"No! _'s_ _not_!"

"Uh, you said 'snot,' but I don't know what you mean. Is something wrong with your nose?"

Moron. I expect this from Chet, but Roy's my _buddy_. He's s'posed to _get_ it.

"It's NOT okay!" There.

"Sorry, Johnny, I'm just not following."

No shit.

"Doc keeps sayin', okay, okay. 's _not_ okay." Goddamit, I'm cryin' again.

"I know, Johnny. I know."

Do I let him hold my hand? Guess so.

.

.

.

Static in my ears, and I hear my pulse. Feel it, too. What happened?

"Johnny? Do you know where you are?"

Ummm. "Rampart? 'Splosion. Leg."

.

.

.

"Johnny. Try to open your eyes, junior. Hey, there you are."

I don't really want to, but I think it's time. Should I look? I can feel there's no cast. I just hope there's still a leg. Yep, thar she blows – _real_ puffy. How come there's no cast on?

"Roy?" Gotta clear my throat. Hoarse.

"Yeah, Johnny, it's me."

"Roy, how come there's no cast on?" Hey, that came out pretty easy!

"Well, Dr. Henry said everything's looking good, but the swelling needs to come down some more before he's okay with putting it back on. He's got it splinted, and some mild traction to keep things lined up, but he says you really need to stay as still as you can, at least for the rest of today."

"Today? Is it still today? Or is it tomorrow?" Duh. "I mean, is it morning?"

"It's the day after your accident, yeah – 'bout 0700."

He looks tired.

"Man, you were here all night, weren't you." Of course he was.

"Of course I was."

"Hope I didn't give you too much trouble."

"Nah, only trouble was you had so much morphine in you we couldn't wake you up. At least you kept breathing, though."

"Yeah, well I guess that's good."

"Hey, you're really sounding a lot better! How is your leg feeling – and before you even open your mouth, it's the truth I want, and not some cockamamie story like you gave me yesterday. If something's not right, you need to speak up."

Yesterday? Oh. Ooohhhh, yeeaahhh. That. Sigh.

"It's... manageable." Yeah, that's a good word for 'not screaming and bawling like a baby.'

"Johnny? 'Manageable' doesn't tell me anything. Come on, pal, unpack."

Unpack? You want me to unpack? Well, all right, then, I'll _give_ you unpacking. Can't look you in the eye, though.

"Roy, my leg hurts like hell, even though I'm still on morphine, which I can tell because you're right there but you're, like, reeealllly far away. I have a splitting headache, I'm pissing through a tube, and," I take a deep breath, 'cause here it comes, "I'm afraid I won't make it back on the team, and I don't know what I'll do if that happens." There. How's that for unpacked?

Silence. Food for thought, pal?

"I asked Doc Henry about that earlier, 'cause I figured that would be on your mind when you had one again, and he said there's no reason you shouldn't make a full recovery."

Sheesh, that's not what I meant.

"Yeah, but what about my little performance yesterday?"

"Johnny, all _any_ of us cared about was how bad you were hurting. Nobody was ashamed of you, or for you, and in fact I'm really goddamned impressed you held it together long enough to not scare the kids. I don't think _I_ could've, and they're _MY_ kids!"

Oh. Um. "Uh, sorry." Wow, Roy _never_ swears.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Junior. Sorry I flew off the handle there, but that's how it is."

Can I look him in the eye? I'll try.

"Hey Roy?" There, that wasn't so hard. "Thanks."

**TBC**

A/N: Please review! Constructive criticism fuels the fire. Are there parts that are confusing as to who is speaking? I'm trying to do this with as little exposition as possible – POV and character stream of consciousness only - at the risk of confusing the reader.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks so much for all the encouraging reviews! Two more chapters after this.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I don't make a dime. I just let them out for air. I'll try to put them back the way I found them. Mostly.

I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway

Chapter 4.

I think I'm stuck in a loop. Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in that gas-filled building. I can smell, even taste, the odorized natural gas that I know is gonna blow at any second. I'm at the top of the last flight down, and BLAM! I slam against the wall, the banister, and my head hits the wall, and then – nothing. Nothing, until someone's screaming in an ambulance. And then I realize, it's me. So I open my eyes, to chase away that vision. Somehow, when I open my eyes, the sounds, smells, tastes – they go away too.

Then as soon as my eyes are open, all I want to do is close them again. So I close my eyes, smell the smell that no fireman can ignore, somewhere between eggs and cabbage, and BLAM! Screaming – me. Bone, blood, pain.

Lather, rinse, repeat – but how do you know when to stop? My bottle of Alberto V05 is just about used up at this point.

Roy's not here. He went out a few minutes (hours, days?) ago to call Joanne, and to call the Cap. Usually I appreciate solitude, but I was mighty glad not to be alone last night.

Someone hung a sign on that trapeze thingy you can pull yourself up in the bed with. "GAGE: YOUR LEG IS BROKEN. TRY NOT TO MOVE – IT WILL HURT." Roy's neat block capitals, in red crayon.

I _do_ try not to move, at least not _too_ much, but I have to get a look at that limb. I'm sitting upright enough that I can see some of it, but not the parts I know are worst. It's elevated about thirty degrees, with the bottom of the cast still in place, on top of sandbags. I can see the foot – it's pinked up real well, plus there's no more pins and needles. Real puffy, though. I can see the knee, which is swollen too, but nothing like the foot. In between, where the knee blocks my view, is where I know the real damage is.

I wanna see it, though. I hafta see that the bone isn't sticking out anymore. I need to see the ugly black caterpillar of stitches that will prove to me that what's supposed to stay _inside_ is back where it belongs. If I tense up my stomach muscles, can I sit up just a little more, without –

Mistake. Guess I should read Roy's little sign again. Guess I should listen to Roy. Guess I should _always_ listen to Roy.

.

.

.

There's all different kinds of pain. We often ask people to describe their pain, which at first I thought was stupid. But now I know there's burning pain, sharp pain, dull pain, cramping pain – I've had all those before. With bones, though, it's like none of those. The only word I can think of to describe it is "sick." It's a pain that makes you feel like you're gonna puke. You feel it in your stomach, in your groin, all the places that you feel like you want to protect, even though those parts aren't what's damaged.

I was begging Roy for to hit me with the MS in the ambulance. The look on his face when he had to say no... Damn. Don't wanna see that again any time soon.

It was music to my ears in Treatment 3 when Brackett finally said "5 milligrams MS, IV." That took the edge off. Then a few minutes later, two more milligrams, then two more, and that's when I could stop makin' a racket. Hard to remember to breathe, though.

The morphine doesn't exactly take the pain away. I mean, it does, some, but mostly you just don't care about it. The pain is still there, and it's still yours, but somehow it's like it's outside of you, instead of inside of you. It doesn't feel as threatening, somehow.

I remember Doc Henry saying he was going to go for a non-surgical reduction, since even though it was an open fracture, it was pretty clean, and the arteries were out of the way. He said he "just" sedated me, but Roy said it looked pretty much like general anesthesia to him. Fine by me.

I don't really remember waking up from that – just at some point, all of a sudden I was in a different room, with a cast on this leg, in traction. Some nurse I didn't know was in the middle of saying somethin', but I missed the beginning somehow. Mostly I just felt out of it.

When I first got up to _this_ room, still pretty much the same. Then we had the sideshow performance from yesterday evening. Man, I couldn't _believe_ how fast that leg went sour. I guess if you're gonna have a medical emergency, ya oughta do it right in the hospital. See – _I'm_ no dummy.

And now, as long as I pay attention to Roy's sign, all I have is the steady, sick, pain in my leg, pounding in perfect time with my heartbeat. I can't really think very well, but I also can't _**not**_ think.

And that's the problem, isn't it. I'm too doped up to think about anything useful, so I keep going over, and over, and over things I don't _wanna_ be thinking about. Smell of gas. BLAM! Hollerin' in the back of the Mayfair. The look on Roy's face when I was begging him for something, anything, to stop the pain. Jagged bone, and blood.

Stop.

Stop. Breathe.

How long can it take to make a phone call?

The eggy smell of gas. BLAM! Pain. Yellow bone.

STOP!

Is it okay to push the call bell just 'cause I'm freakin' out? One way to find out.

Nurse comes in – average looking middle-aged brunette. "Good morning, Mr. Gage. I'm Mrs. Gibson, and I'll be your nurse this shift. How can I help you?"

For once, I'm not gonna bother with the charm. What's the point? "Hey, have you seen my partner out there? He was s'posed to be making a phone call, but he's takin' an awfully long time."

"Oh, Mr. DeSoto? He was just on the phone with his wife. He should be just about finished up, I think, cause someone else was waiting to use the phone. Do you need anything?"

"Nah, I guess not. Just wonderin' where he'd got to is all." _I don't want to talk to _her_. _"Sorry to bother you."

"Well, as long as I'm here, I might as well check your vitals – it's almost time, anyhow."

I could tell her what they are, save her some trouble. 'Cept the BP, of course. I'll bet that's up a good bit, though.

She takes the measurements efficiently, and writes something on the chart hanging off the foot of the bed. "How's your pain this morning?"

"I dunno. Not too bad, I guess."

She snorts a bit. "Yes, Miss McCall said you'd say something like that, and that I shouldn't let you get away with it. So," she holds up a piece of paper, "I'm going to write a number from zero to ten on the back of this paper, which is what you _look_ like your pain is. Then you tell me, on a scale of zero to ten, how bad your pain is today, with a '10' being the worst you can imagine. And Miss McCall says, if your number is more than one point lower than mine, that you're in big trouble with her. And just to give you a hint, your BP is 145/90, the whites of your eyes are showing all around the irises, your knuckles are white, and your jaw is clenched like you're afraid your teeth are going to fall out. So what'll it be, Mr. Gage?" She writes on the paper, where I can't see it. Damn, Dix has me licked, and she's not even in the room.

"Seven," I mutter.

She holds up the paper, where I see a giant number seven. "That's more like it, Mr. Gage. And how bad is your headache?"

I'm stumped. I didn't say anything about that. "Uh, pretty bad?" She looks sternly at me. "Um, it's pounding like hel- heck. How'd you know that, anyhow?"

She sighs. "Doctors, cops, and firemen – every single one of you is a raging caffeine addict. You're having a withdrawal headache. Do you think you can manage some coffee with breakfast this morning?"

I think I like this one okay after all. "Yes, ma'am, I think I could." I try to smile, but all I manage is to unclench my jaw a bit. Hope them teeth don't fall out. Hope my _breakfast_ won't fall out later.

"And half of you caffeine junkies are alcoholics, too." She looks right at me. "Is this something we need to address during your stay?"

"No, ma'am, I'm not that half." She seems satisfied with that – prob'ly already asked Dix.

"Right then, I'll see about some pain meds, and some breakfast. I'll be back shortly. In the meantime, I'll go kick Mr. DeSoto off the phone and send him back in here. You look like you could use some company." She turns on her heel and nearly collides with Roy in the doorway.

Roy looks like hell. At least, like hell for someone who hasn't just been blown up in the past twenty-four hours. He must've taken a detour to the coffee machine, because the aroma of burnt coffee floats in along with him. Well, he's entitled to a detour.

"Hey, Roy, thanks for the sign." I wave at the crayoned notice taped to the trapeze bar. I make sure not to wave too vigorously, though.

"Did it work?" he asks sardonically, wincing as he takes a sip of the stale brew.

"Well, at least I knew who I was when I woke up. Tried to shift to get a look at the leg, though; that was dumb."

"Yeah, well, that's what you were doing all night. You'd wake up, sometimes yelling, sometimes talking gibberish, and then you'd insist that you had to see 'that leg.' Then I'd tell you to quit moving around or you'd hurt yourself, but you couldn't let it rest. Then you'd drift off in the middle of a sentence, and twenty minutes later we'd do it all again."

Some of this is sounding vaguely familiar, but like it was somebody else, not me, who was acting in a play.

"Huh. I guess I sort of remember, maybe." I press my fingertips into the veins in my temples to try to stop the throbbing. It helps a little bit.

"Well, Johnny, if it helps any, it's looking a whole lot better this morning. Last night when they first brought you back after getting the cast off, it was so swollen that the stitches in the laceration from the fracture were pulling pretty badly. But now, the swelling's come down quite a bit, and everything looks dry."

"Hmph. I guess that _does_ sound better." A thought! An actual, coherent thought occurs to me. "Hey, do you s'pose you could find me a mirror? Then I could see that leg for real, without moving all over."

"Not a bad idea. Cap's on his way over – do you want me to call him, try to catch him before he leaves?"

"Nah, I think the nurse can probably come up with something. She seems like the resourceful type. She said she'd bring me _coffee_ with breakfast. And Roy, I think I'm even gonna be able to eat."

Roy smiles. "That's good, Johnny. That's _real_ good."

The door swings open, and Nurse Gibson comes through, backwards, pulling a cart. The cart has a covered tray, and – hurrah – two vials and a syringe.

"All right, Mr. Gage," she announces. She starts filling the syringe from the first vial. "The doctor wants to have you on IV meds until he gets that leg casted again, which should be today. So, I'm afraid you're stuck with the morphine and phenergan for now. I know you don't like the fog that cocktail gives you, but it's really the best choice for keeping you comfortable right now."

She flicks the syringe to bring the bubbles to the top. A tiny droplet appears at the tip of the needle. "And one more thing: I'm going to ask you for an honest pain assessment every hour at least. All these medications work best if you don't let the pain get on top of you. So for goodness' sake, please don't try to tough it out, or save me trouble, or any of that nonsense. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." How can I argue with that?

Something's bugging me. I can't quite put a finger on it, but something's going on that's making me nervous. I do a quick body check – nothing seems different from five minutes ago, except suddenly my heart is racing and I'm breathing faster.

I sniff the air, as the morphine goes in the IV.

"Roy, do you smell something?"

He sniffs the air, frowning. "To be honest, I smell quite a _lot_ of things, but I'm not sure which one you mean."

Anxiety, dulled by the phenergan that just came on board, but building anyhow. Nurse Gibson pushes the meal cart over, and lifts the domed lid off the tray.

"Roy, I'm not kidding! You hafta be able to smell that! Aw, hell, Roy, we have to get out of here! The whole place is full of gas! It's gonna blow!"

I'm pushing everything out of my way, but I can't seem to get up. Did I hurt my leg somehow? Finally my flailing arms make contact with something solid, metal. I shove.

BLAM!

I cover my face to protect it from the explosion. It sounds like clattering this time. I ready myself, as best I can, for what I know is next: someone screaming, pain, bone, blood. I'm breathing so hard and fast I can't hear what's happening around me but I smell the gas why do I still smell the gas I feel hands on me it must be Cap and Marco getting me outta here but why are they holding me down they need to pick me up and next I'll wake up in the ambulance and someone's screaming and there's bone sticking out and the

.

.

.

.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry for the double-posting of Ch. 4 – I was experiencing technical difficulties.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I don't make a dime. I just let them out for air, and I try to remember to use the appropriate tool for each job.

I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway

Chapter 5.

I was _so_ sure.

"Hey, Cap? I think he's coming around. Are you waking up, pal?"

So sure that everything was gonna blow. That everything was going to start again: BLAM! Pain, screaming, bone, blood, Roy, all pale, saying 'I'm sorry, sorry, I can't give you anything, Johnny."

I _know_ I smelled gas. I just _know_ I did.

"Roy, I don't think he's really awake yet. His eyes are open, but not focused. Boy, they really knocked him out."

"Well, Cap, they had to. I had to hold him down so he wouldn't hurt himself any worse than he already was. I mean, he just went ballistic."

Well, of course I did. I had to get everyone out before it blew. BLAM! Pain, screams, jagged bone, Roy –

I snap my eyes open to stop the images from repeating. I can see the room clearly now. Roy, lookin' haggard. Cap, doin' that chin thing he does when he's concerned.

"Hey, Roy, he's looking at you. John? Are you with us?"

Am I with them? "Yeah. Sorta."

"Take your time, Gage. Take your time. You're gonna be all right." Good. If Cap says, it must be true.

" 'kay."

As I lie here, taking my time, I try not to think. Not being able to control my thoughts is somehow more frightening than the sickening pain in that leg.

"Roy?"

"Hey, Johnny."

"Doesn't hurt so bad." Meaning, the pain is a steady throb, still dull and sickening, but not my entire world. "Heavy, though."

"You're back in a cast. Dr. Henry casted you again while you were sedated."

"Lotta morphine."

"Yeah, that too, Junior."

"Need it. Don' _wanna_ need it."

Cap speaks up. "John, that's what it's _for_. I can tell you from personal experience, trying to tough it out is a _huge_ mistake. You've gotta stay on top of the pain with the drugs, and not let _it_ get on top of _you_." What happened to Cap? I didn't think he'd ever been hurt bad on the job.

"Freaked out."

"I'm sure you are – I would be too." That Roy, he can see anyone's point of view.

"Can't turn it off."

"Uh, you're losin' me, partner."

"DeSoto, let me try this one." Cap again. "Are you having trouble not thinking about what happened?"

I find myself tearing up again, but I can't help it – he gets it. "Over and over, broken record. Goin' nuts." My new habit: hands over my face when I cry in front of the guys. Nice.

I try so hard to keep it in, but I think there's something about the morphine that makes it hard to keep anything in. Not just stomach contents, but words, emotions. Everything comes spilling out, whether or not I want it to.

After a few minutes, I can take my hands away from my face. I swipe my palms across my face, angry about the wetness. Deep breath. Have to remember to breathe.

Roy's fallen asleep in the impossibly uncomfortable-looking looking chair. He looks terrible – no surprise, since I bet I kept him up all night. _His_ day yesterday was no cakewalk either. I remember the look on his face in the the back of the Mayfair when I was pleading, begging, screaming –

No. Stop.

"Hey Cap?" I whisper so I don't wake up Roy. "Gotta make Roy go home."

"You better believe it, John. First he wanted to stay just till I got here, and then he wanted to stay till your leg was casted again, and then till you came up from the sedation. But Joanne's on her way to get him. I wouldn't let him drive."

"No kids!" I practically shout, forgetting to whisper, but Roy doesn't even stir. "Can't let the kids in, Cap."

"It's all right Gage, we know. Chris is at school, and Jenny's at a neighbor's."

We're quiet for a few minutes. That's somethin' I like about Cap – he doesn't have to talk all the time. Right now I don't want to talk. I don't want to think, either, but it's harder to not think than it is to not talk. If I keep my eyes open, it's better. Maybe I can count all the dots on one of those ceiling panels.

Or not. I can't get past 20 without having to start over again. Maybe talking's better.

"It's like I'm flying in a holding pattern over the airport," I blurt suddenly. Wow, getting more coherent. "They won't let me land, but I'm almost out of fuel, and I'm usin' it all up, circling, and goin' around, and around. I don't want to be thinkin' about all this shit, but I can't shut my brain off."

Cap is listening intently. My leg is pounding, and I know I need to settle down, but I have to get this out.

"And, I totally lost it this morning. And ya know what I think it was, now? I think it was just _eggs_."

Cap looks confused. Maybe I'm not as coherent as I thought.

"Go on, John," he prompts.

"The _smell_, Cap. I think the smell of the eggs on the breakfast tray set me off somehow. I mean, crummy hospital eggs smell a little bit like mercaptans, but even I oughta know the difference between breakfast and boom." Just thinking about it makes my heart race, and the jackhammering in the leg races along with it.

"I'm tellin' you, Cap," I continue, "it doesn't make one bit of sense."

Cap's brow is furrowed. "On the contrary, John, it makes perfect sense. One trigger, if you will, that sets off a chain reaction of memories, and you feel like you can't stop them popping into your head, even though you'd rather think about just pretty much anything else in the world."

If I could've, I'd've shot bolt upright in bed. 'Cause that's _exactly_ it.

"You hit the nail on the head, Cap. How did you –" _ Oh. Yeah. _"Korea. Something happened in Korea." Suddenly the lactated Ringer's dripping into my vein is ice cold. I knew that Captain Stanley had been in Korea, but he never, _ever_, talked about it. Ever.

Cap's somber like I've never seen him before. "John, I don't think it would be helpful for you to hear about it right now, but yeah, I've been pretty much where you are."

I'm stunned, and this time it's not just from the drugs. Cap is so level-headed, so in control. The idea of him stuck in a spin cycle is, well, unthinkable. I hope nothing I'm saying is putting him back in it, but I think that hope isn't very realistic, from the look on his face.

Finally I dare to speak again. "What do I do now, Cap?"

**TBC! R&R greatly appreciated!**

A/N:

(1) Mercaptans are the compounds used to give natural gas a stench. On its own, gas is odorless, so for safety reasons, before delivery to points of use, it is odorized. I used to live a block from an odorizing station, and one time there was a small leak of mercaptans, and I thought the whole neighborhood was going to go up in flames.

(2)Behavioral medicine researchers are now finding that beta blockers, a category of drugs that reduces the effects of adrenaline and other stress hormones, can help prevent PTSD when administered shortly (within a day or two) after the traumatic incident. This makes logical sense, since PTSD is believed to be a result of a persistent "rewiring" of the stress response in the brain caused, in part, by an acute and overactive adrenaline response to a physically and/or psychological trauma.

Some people are wary of the idea of chemically manipulating the body's and brain's responses to events that should be horrifying, believing that nature knows best and things should take their course. But if it were me, I'd say "pass the propranolol please."

(3) Notice anything odd about some of Johnny's word choices in this chapter or the last? Not the addle-brained stuff or swearing, but something else entirely.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I don't make a dime. I just let them out for air, give them cookies and milk, pat them on the back, and send them home again.

I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway

Chapter 6.

The only time I ever saw Cap anything other than in control was that time when his old captain became our new battalion chief. Chief McConike really got him going, but other than that, I thought Cap was unflappable. So I knew that any advice he had for me would be worth listening to.

He seemed lost in thought – boy do I know how _that_ can happen – so I repeated my question. "What do I do now, Cap?"

He shook his head, as if to shake something out of his hair, and blew out a long breath.

"Well, I think the first thing would be to try to tell me everything that's going on in your head. It will all stay between you and me – and that's a solemn promise."

I thought about that. "Everything?" Because this wasn't something I could take lightly. I looked over at my partner, still dozing in a chair just to my left.

"The whole enchilada, pal." Cap waited silently while I thought some more.

"Cap, I wanna tell you, but I can't – not yet – not while Roy's still here."

Cap looked surprised at this. "But John, he's your best friend! I would even think you'd _rather_ talk to him than to me, about anything!"

_This is so hard._ "Yeah. He's my best friend, and I've just put him through hell. Roy and I have seen it all – you know that, Cap – and our job takes its toll on us both. But I have never, _ever_ seen him look like he does now. Some of the things on my mind -" I grapple with myself for a moment about how to phrase this - "would hurt 'im all over again. And I can't do that, Cap, I just can't."

Cap'n Stanley's expression softened. "No, of course not. We'll talk after Joanne takes him home."

Now it's my turn to blow out a long breath. As I do, I notice that the sick pain has started creeping its way back into my world. I hate asking for help – hate it, hate it. But I have to start somewhere, so I push the call button.

To my surprise, the door instantly swings open – or, I should say, thumps open. After a second or two of awkward banging, Dixie makes her way in on crutches. Roy jerks awake, suddenly alert as if the station's tones had just sounded.

Dixie must see the serious looks on Cap's and my faces. Her smile fades. "Sorry, Johnny; I forget that when I'm not a nurse I should knock first. Is everything okay?"

It's strange seeing her look so hesitant. She's used to having one or another of "her" paramedics or firemen in her joint. Roy gives her his chair – always the gentleman, and she is on crutches, after all – and goes to sit on the empty bed.

I decide to practice the "honest and open" thing. Gotta start somewhere, right? "Truth be told, I've been having a pretty rough time of it, Dix."

Her eyes mist up – one more thing I'm not used to. "I'm so sorry, Johnny. I thought you might be having complications last night. I'm really sorry. Did you see Dr. Henry again?"

"Didn't Mrs. Gibson tell you everything?" I was surprised – I always thought gossip traveled fast in this place.

"No, Johnny – I was a patient till five minutes ago, and you are a patient, and nurses who are any good at their jobs don't talk to **patients** about other **patients**." She reflected on this for a second. "But I did warn her about how you'd tell her nonsense about how you were fine," she admitted sheepishly.

I decided to ignore that last bit. "Well, it's a bit foggy," _fortunately_, "but it was the onset of compartment syndrome." She blanched – as an ER nurse, she knew full well what the possible consequences were. "We caught it in time to prevent any permanent damage, but it was pretty unpleasant." In the spirit of total truth, I quickly revised that statement. "I mean, I now understand the phrase 'pain out of proportion to the presenting injury.'"

Nurse Gibson came in just in time to hear that last part. She stopped in the doorway, set her tray of supplies on the counter, and looked around at the crowd in the room with her hands on her hips. "Mr. DeSoto, you really need to go home and get some rest. Miss McCall, you were discharged under strict instructions to do the same."

Dixie didn't bother to pretend to be chagrined. "Sorry, Gibby – I just _had_ to stop in and see Johnny for just five minutes before I head out. I promise, I'll go downstairs and get right in a cab."

Roy shook his head at her. "No way, Dixie. Jo and I can drop you off on our way home – she should be here any second."

"Oh, that's sweet, Roy. I'll take you up on that if it's okay with Joanne."

"Great, then; that's settled," proclaimed Mrs. Gibson. "So, right now, I would like a little quality time with my patient. Could everyone please give us some privacy for a few minutes? By which I mean, clear out, people. Captain Stanley, you may wait in the lounge at the end of the hall."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. "Come in!" yelled four of us, drowning out Nurse Gibson's "Good grief."

Joanne DeSoto entered cautiously. "Hi, Johnny, Captain Stanley, Dixie. Just came to collect my husband," she said, "and to peek in on you, Johnny, if that's all right." She moved to Roy's side, taking his hand. She asked me, "Are you doing better? You _look_ better than you did yesterday evening."

"Thanks, Joanne, I'm doing a little better. Thanks for lending Roy to me last night – I don't know how I would've made it through."

"Anything, Johnny. You know that." She turned to Roy. "Love, you look awful. Let's get you home."

Roy rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Okay if we drop Dixie off on our way?"

"Of course!"

"All right, Junior. Rest up, and get better. I'll come by tomorrow to see how you're doing." And with that, Roy, Dix, and Joanne headed out.

Cap hung back for a second. "John, I'll be back as soon as the nurse says I can, all right, son?"

"Sure, Cap. Thanks." I threw him a half-salute.

"So, Mr. Gage," Nurse Gibson continued as if she had just walked in. "How can I help you?"

"Well, my pain was about a '5' when I woke up, about, oh, fifteen minutes ago, but I'm feeling it creep up again, and it's about a '7' again." Yep, a chainsaw is about a '7,' I'd say.

She checked my chart, and replied, "It's been three hours since your last pain medication – so it's about time for it to be wearing off with a metabolism like yours. I'm glad you didn't let it get too bad before you called me."

_Yeah, me too._ "I guess I've kinda figured out that since I'm on this train, I might as well ride it, instead of trying to get out and stop it. Cause if I do that, I'm liable to get run over."

Nurse Gibson chuckled, while preparing a syringe. "Truer words have never been spoken, Mr. Gage. I suppose your cocktail really _is_ wearing off if you can come up with something like that."

I felt the fog come back down, blunting everything, as she slowly injected the contents of the syringe into the IV port.

"Once the phenergan is on board, I'd like you to try again with breakfast, which didn't go so well earlier." She looked enquiringly at me. "Any insights, there?"

I sighed. Ridin' the train, right? "No eggs, this time, okay? I'm pretty sure the smell of the eggs triggered some kind of, I dunno, flashback or somethin'."

She nodded. "Thought so. You were pretty lucid, really, and you weren't looking at or talking to anyone or anything that wasn't there. Now, you firemen aren't famous for this, but if you need to talk..."

"Well, Cap'n Stanley and I were getting a start on that just now." I was surprised to realize that I really wanted to continue that conversation.

"All right, Mr. Gage." She checked the chart again. "So, Dr. Henry wants to transition you to oral pain meds once you're eating okay. And, on a related note, let's talk bowels."

Ah, geez, let's _not_ talk bowels.

She continued, mercifully not asking me anything. "I'm sure you're aware of the side effects of the narcotic pain relievers. And you really don't want to let that get out of hand, so let's concentrate on getting plenty of fiber and liquid down the hatch, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am." Whew. I thought she was gonna try to get me to _go_.

"Okay, then: bran muffin and prune juice, coming right up."

I wished she hadn't put it quite that way. Gulp.

"I'm going to crank the head of the bed up a bit, so you're more upright. Let me know," she continued as she turned the crank, "if it hurts_ at all_. No? Good – there you are. And, I'll send your captain back in, if you like."

"Thanks." I nodded, as Nurse Gibson turned and left.

It felt good to be sitting up. Somehow, the haze isn't quite as bad this time. I make it to thirty, counting dots on the ceiling tiles. And, I wonder, what happened in Korea? Did the Cap get shot? I don't recall seeing any scars on him, and I would've, having had to patch him up a couple times. Did he get blown up? Did he get slammed against the wall, BLAM! Wake up screaming, see his partner's ashen face, a spike of bone –

Stop.

I realize I'm panting, clutching the sheets. I can feel a sheen of sweat on my lip.

Cap comes in with a tray. "Nurse's orders – eat first, talk later." He notes my clenched fists, my fast breathing, and sets the tray down. A hand on my knotted shoulder. "John, look at me." I can't – I'm not here – I'm back there again. All I see is the ceiling of the Mayfair, something yellow jutting out from a cut-up navy-blue pants leg, Roy, gray-faced, almost in tears, "Sorry, sorry, I can't give you anything –"

Hands taking my face, a face looking at mine, up close. _Not_ Roy.

"Gage!"

It's Cap. Was he there? No. And neither am I. Not any more.

Breathe.

My eyes search Cap's, wildly.

"You're all right. Everything's under control." His tone is commanding and gentle all at once, and I believe him. I can breathe again, and I unclench my fists. There are tiny crescents in my palms where the nails dug in. The pain in the right leg is still there, but it's dull and nagging, rather than sick and pounding. Slowly, I feel my pulse and respirations returning to some semblance of normal.

I run both my shaking hands through my hair. "All right, Cap, thanks."

"Good boy." Somehow, when he says that, it doesn't sound like he's talking to a dog. I feel comforted, and not put down.

Cap swings the bedside table over my bed, careful not to jar anything. Silently, I try a sip of the juice – cold, sweet, thick. A bite of the muffin. Edible, but not even up to firehouse kitchen standards. Feels good to have something other than acid in my stomach, though.

After a few minutes, I push away the tray. Normally I could demolish five times that amount, easy, but I don't wanna overdo it.

I know what's next, now. On the one hand, I dread the thought of actually describing the horrific images that keep intruding on my consciousness. On the other hand, this is Cap – I trust him with my life every single shift. So for sure, I can trust him with my sanity.

He's waiting, patiently, for me to say something. How do I start? I guess I just _do_.

"Roy and Chet were taking someone out, and I had just finished checking the top floor." There, that wasn't so hard.

"The smell of gas was so strong, Cap. I was coming down the last flight of stairs, almost to the lobby, when it blew. All I remember was getting thrown against the wall, and hitting the banister. Then – nothin'."

Cap somehow knows that I have to get the blanks filled in. "Lopez and I did a grab-and-go. We were in and out in half a minute – you were right at the bottom of the stairs in the lobby. We didn't have time to be careful."

I understood that. In a situation that's immediately dangerous to life, there's no time for spinal precautions, or splinting of possibly broken limbs. What he was trying to tell me was, they may have hurt me worse getting me out, by saving my life. And there's no question they saved my life. Not one of us in that building was wearing our SCBA – stupid, stupid.

"John, what's the first thing you remember? I think it might be helpful for you to have all the gaps filled in, and I was there till you were loaded up in the ambulance."

Screaming, pain, bone, Roy's face – stop.

"Uh, nothin' till I woke up in the ambulance. I must've been out cold." _Fortunately_.

"Huh. Well, you were unconscious for sure when we grabbed you, and for sure when we set you down in the triage area. But you were breathing on your own – there wasn't time for you to eat much smoke. Marco put the oxygen on you before Roy left Chet with their patient, who was fine. By then it was obvious that your leg was in bad shape. Roy checked you out, and other than your right leg and some superficial cuts and a nasty egg on the back of your head, you looked okay. He called in to Rampart, and slit your pants leg all the way up the front. By then, you were struggling a bit, and trying to push the oxygen away. Um, Marco and I had to hold you down while Roy irrigated the wound. Rampart picked up, and – are you sure you don't remember any of this? 'Cause you were waking up for sure, at this point."

"Not a thing, Cap. I can't say I'm sorry."

He continued. "So, Rampart picked up, and Roy gave them your vitals, and your condition, and reported you had a compound tib-fib. He was okay until he told them you had a possible head injury – at that point, we were less worried about the head injury itself than the fact it meant you couldn't get drugs till a doc checked you out. They had him start a large-bore IV of Ringer's, and told him to splint the fracture as it was for transport.

"By then you were really coming around. The battalion chief stood our engine down – the second alarm had shown up by then. It took the four of us to hold you down while Roy splinted you up, and you still managed to rip the IV out." He paused. "I'm especially glad you don't remember the splinting, John. I wish I didn't."

Boy, I understand that _completely_. I had to ask, even though it seemed irreverent, and maybe even flippant: "So, did Stoker puke?"

Cap snorted. "No, for once, but I did, and Marco, too. You see, he had your legs when we did the grab-and-go."

Oh. So he probably could tell how bad it was already. And probably worries he compounded the fracture. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't – it doesn't really matter. Hafta make sure he knows I don't blame him. Knowin' Marco, he's beatin' himself up pretty good right now.

Cap continued. "Well, you were in and out of it as we loaded you up. You weren't saying anything coherent, just moaning and yelling, and trying to push everything and everyone away. Roy rode in with you, and that's all I know."

I realized, it helped to know the parts I missed. At least now, when I go over it in my head, it can go slower. I try to picture some of the events I missed – kinda strange to have second-hand knowledge about _yourself_.

I continued for Cap. "You know when you come to, there's that sort of feeling of a tunnel in front of you – everything's all gray around the edges, and you hear static, and then it kind of, I dunno, opens up?"

Cap nodded. I went on. "Well, I felt like I was in a tunnel, and I could hear someone screaming. Man, they were in agony – I kept wondering why nobody was doing anything for the poor bastard. I think, that's when I was really awake for the first time – when I realized it was me. And I knew where I was, and even though Roy was practically sitting on me, I sat up enough to see that leg." I swallowed, audibly.

"Cap, I really wish I hadn't looked. I could tell it was bad by the way it felt, which was about a '20' on a scale of one to ten. But even though I've seen hundreds of compound fractures – I dunno, I guess seeing it on myself kinda... Well, that's _one_ of the pictures I can't get out of my head." Sure enough, that image moved me right on to the next scene of my endless, looping flashback.

"And Cap – I begged him, and I called him every dirty name in the book, and some that didn't make it in." My voice was wavering, and I had a knot in my throat, and I knew that Cap would take it all in stride as I talked through the sobs. "And he ... kept saying ... sorry, sorry Johnny, you know I can't... and I _knew_ he couldn't give me anything... but Cap? Aaaah, Cap, I hated him **SO** much." And I couldn't go on. I hadn't realized it before – but at that moment, I had hated Roy's guts.

And my Captain held me to his chest, like I was a little boy, as I sobbed uncontrollably.

**TBC**

A/N: Well, this obviously isn't over yet, is it? Johnny has a few things to work out yet.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own them, but Emergency Productions, Mark VII, and Universal TV do, and I don't make a dime. I just let them out for air, put band-aids on their skinned knees, wipe away their tears, and send 'em back home. Oh yeah, sometimes I beat them up a bit first, but no copyright infringement is intended.

I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway

Chapter 7.

I hadn't realized it before.

I know it wasn't his fault – heck, I've had to refuse pain meds for injured folks with possible head injuries. Roy and I know our jobs, and we know we don't give any kind of meds to anyone without the Doc's say-so. And, we know they're never going to authorize painkillers for anyone with a potential head injury. Geez, _we've_ even had to remind _them_ sometimes when they order it and we've reported possible head trauma.

But man, at the time, Roy was the worst person in the world, and I hated him.

I let Cap hold onto me for a while. And after a few minutes, I was able to control my breathing, and I took a few shuddering breaths that didn't turn into sobs. Once more, I covered my face, to wipe away the tears, and to avoid havin' to look at Cap. He let me go, tousling my hair.

_Pull yourself together, Gage, ya snivelin' baby._

After a few more minutes, I felt secure enough to take my hands away from my face.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Nothing to apologize for, Gage. Not a thing."

"Guess I'm not so tough after all."

Cap sighed heavily. "John, I know you're worried about getting back in the action. But ya wanna know which guys don't make it as firemen in the long run? It's the guys who keep it all bottled up. _They're_ the ones that end up quitting, or getting kicked out. _They're_ the ones who get put on administrative leave because they broke a hand punching a wall. _They're_ the ones who end up alcoholics on skid row.

"Let's face it – our jobs, it's like being in a war zone. Half the time it's dead boring, but you're always on edge because you never know when you're gonna get toned out, or what kinda call it's gonna be when you _do_ have a run. And I'm just talking firemen!

"You and Roy – I have to hand it to you guys. For the rest of us, a 'simple' run is a dumpster fire – no human suffering. But for you guys, a 'simple' run will still have a sick child, a scared accident victim – always _people_. Every single run, every single shift.

"So don't you _ever_ be ashamed of showing you have feelings. Don't you _ever_ feel like somehow you're less of a man. 'Cause if you do, I will _personally_ come over to your house and _kick_ your skinny ass!"

_Wow._ "Yessir."

Cap must've realized he was standing up and shouting, 'cause he grabbed a chair and settled down.

"Sorry about the rant, Gage. Not what you needed."

I snorted. "Actually, Cap, yeah, it was."

Not knowing what to say next, we both just sat quietly for a while. Finally, I figured I should get on with business.

"Hey Cap?" He returned from his reverie. "All that stuff I just told you – that's my broken record – the explosion, screamin' in the ambulance, seein' the bone sticking out of this leg, seein' the look on Roy's face. I don' wanna _think_ about that stuff! It's over! I'm outta there! But it's like I'm _not_ outta there, 'cause I keep goin' back!"

Another heavy sigh from Cap. "Yeah, John, I hear ya. I wish I had a simple answer for you, but I don't. I can tell you what worked for me, but I don't know if it'll work for you. And I still think this isn't a good time for me to go into any detail about what I got stuck on in Korea. But, what I felt like, was that I'd get thrown back into the events, mentally, and I'd have the adrenaline rush just like I did at the time – heart rate totally out of control, sweating, all those fear reactions. Then, it was like the fear itself would put me right back there on that hill all over again. A vicious cycle."

Captain Stanley continued. "Hmph. I just remembered – this was advice I got from _my_ company's captain in `52. Funny," he said to himself.

"So what I did, was, purposely tried to think about every individual piece of what I was flashing back to. I'd take one piece of it, and explain to myself why I was done with that piece, and mentally put it in a box. Sounds ridiculous, I know – but after I did that a few zillion times, sometimes the boxes stayed shut."

"Cap, I don't care _how_ ridiculous it sounds – I'll give it a shot." Really – if he'd said stand on your head and cluck like a chicken, I'd've tried that.

"Okay, Gage. So let's pick one piece. Pick one piece of the story that's totally finished, and we'll take it from there."

I thought for a second. "Well, how 'bout this leg?" I gestured to the heavy white plaster cast propped up in front of me.

Cap frowned. "John, I've been noticing something. You keep talking about 'this leg,' or 'the leg,' or 'that leg.' It's yours – _**your**_ leg. I don't think this'll work if you don't feel like you _own_ it."

Well _that_ stopped me cold. Was I really doing that? Yesterday, all I could worry about was keeping the fool thing, but yeah, he's right – today I'm kinda keeping my distance. "Huh," was my brilliant reply.

"Here's what I want to hear, Gage. Take ownership of it. I wanna hear you say it's your leg. Then we'll go from there."

"Okay, Cap. It's your leg." Well, he walked right into _that_ one.

"Twit! I'm serious."

"All right. _My_ leg is broken." _There, no problem._ "_I _had a compound fracture of _my_ right tibia. _My_ shin bone was poking through _my_ skin." My voice started to shake. "I've seen this before, but it's different this time, because it's _my_ leg!" _Screaming, bone, blood, Roy's face, oh god it hurts, why won't he help me?_

"Gage!" Cap snapped me out of it. "You're okay, you're all right." He paused for a second. "See my point?"

All I could do was nod.

I tried to settle my breathing. I feel queasy, and I really don't wanna hurl. I look at the cast, propped up by sandbags and pillows. "I never did get a look at that – my – leg during the time the cast was off, Cap. Did you see it?"

Cap nodded.

"Whatddit look like? I mean, everything's back, um, _**in**_, right? Stitches? A lot?" _I need to know._

"Well, I won't lie to ya, it wasn't pretty. There's sort of a crescent-shaped cut on the front, probably from the bone, and then another cut – a straight one – about, I dunno, four inches long, on the side. Plenty of stitches – but that's better than not enough, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Frowning, I continued. "I just wish I coulda seen it myself – you know, just so I can see for myself that there's no bone stickin' out any more."

"John, look at the cast."

I looked.

"What do you see?"

I didn't really understand what he was getting at. "Uh, it's smooth, white, plaster, and it's, um, long? It goes up past the –" Cap held up a warning finger – "_my_ knee, and I guess that's about it."

"Okay, that's a start. What kind of shape is it?"

"Huh? I dunno, leg-shaped?"

"Good. And, when you saw your leg for the first time after the explosion, would it have fit inside the cast you have now?"

No hesitation there – "No way, Cap! It was almost like there was another knee in the middle of –" _Oh_. I stopped with my mouth open, the way Kelly always says would make a good fly trap.

"See my point?"

I nodded.

"So how about this. When you have the image of the fracture, first thing you do is look at your cast. Remind yourself that you've had the best medical care available, both on the scene and here at Rampart. And take that image of the fracture, put it away in an imaginary box, and close that box." He gestured slamming a lid down and turning and throwing away a key. "Are you up to trying this?"

_No. _"Yeah, let's do it." I closed my eyes, and for the first time, purposely thought about what my leg looked like after the explosion. Bent where it shouldn't have been, jagged spike of yellow-orange bone, blood all over the cardboard splint, someone screaming – stop. Look at the cast. Smooth, straight, perfect. Take the broken leg, and put it in a box. Close the lid. Breathe.

Breathe.

I looked at Cap. "I did it. I turned it off."

And, even if it was just for now, even if it was just a baby step, I was in control of my own mind.

**TBC**

**A/N: **

(1) R&R, please & thanks!

(2) Why couldn't Roy give Johnny painkillers? Opioid painkillers can further depress respiration in patients with head injury. Also, they can mask clinical signs of rising pressure inside the skull.

(3) Trying to break my bad habit of switching back and forth between past and present tense in 1st-person POVs. It's HARD! At some point I'll go back and fix it in previous chapters.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I will use some euphemisms for "psychiatric institution" in this chapter. In no way do I intend to offend, or to make light of mental illness. I am simply having the characters use language they would have used with each other in the time period in which this story is set. Thanks for understanding this.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, but Emergency Productions, Mark VII, and Universal TV do, and I don't make a dime. I take them out out of their cage and play with them, but no copyright infringement is intended.

I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway

Chapter 8.

TWO DAYS LATER

I'm actually starting to feel human again. My big milestone? Last night I slept as much as you really can in a hospital. That's one of the things that I hate about hospitals – they wake you up every couple of hours, but then tell you to "get some rest." Puh-leeze. But, I think being on oral pain meds, rather than IV, has kept the weird drug nightmares at bay. Plus, the pills don't make me puke, so I don't have to have the anti-nausea stuff – man, that really knocks me out. Chet was in the other day when I was still on IV meds and phenergan, and he said I dozed off in the middle of a sentence. Way to go, Gage.

Still practicing putting things in boxes. It's really working for getting rid of the nasty image of what the fracture looked like. For the fetid smell of gas, the explosion, the screaming, and Roy – not so much.

I've figured out how to move around a little without gettin' the chainsaws going in my leg. Not a lot – but I've never been good at holding still for more than five seconds, so it makes me feel more like myself to be able to fidget some. Only lasted a few minutes in a wheelchair, though – maybe not quite ready for that. I don't love the hospital-gown-plus-wheelchair combination, either – kinda drafty.

Roy was in for a while yesterday afternoon. I was having a shitty afternoon – hadn't quite gotten the right dosage and timing for the oral pain meds. Doc Henry said I must have the healthiest liver on the planet to go through meds so fast. Anyway, I choked a little when Roy first came in – flashed right back, again, yup. Roy's always a talker, but I guess he could tell I wasn't in the mood. So we didn't talk about the other day at all – just played some cards. By the time he left, I could look at him without gettin' nervous. But man, I owe him a serious apology, and I can't apologize without talking about what I have to apologize for. And worse than that – hell, I get the cold sweats and the shakes when I see my partner. Great.

Guess that oughta be next on the John Gage Repair and Overhaul list – how to talk to my partner without flashing back to screaming obscenities at him in the meat wagon. Yeah, that'd be good. Let's see what happens when he comes by this afternoon. I still told him no kids, though. Guess I'm still feeling kinda unpredictable.

* * *

"Knock knock." Roy was peering through the doorway, half in and half out of the room. I was also half-n-half – half awake, half asleep. I waved him in and rubbed the grit out of my eyes.

"How are you?" he asked, pulling up a chair.

"Oh, better, I s'pose." _Crap, here comes the panic again. Let's keep it to small talk. _ "Doc Henry says they're gonna re-cast my leg today – the swelling's gone down a lot I guess."

"Good, good." Roy looked like he didn't really know what to say either.

I could feel my upper lip starting to sweat, and a thin trickle ran down between my shoulder blades. I tried not to breathe hard, tried not to clench my jaw, but it didn't work.

Roy noticed. Of course. He got that tentative look he gets when he's worried. Nothing like Brackett's famous eyebrows, but _**I**_ could see it.

"Are you mad at me?" he blurted.

_Shit_. I flopped back onto my pile of pillows, closed my eyes, and sighed into my hands. _Well, no time like the present._

"No, no, I'm not mad. It's not like that at all." I still couldn't look at him.

Patient as always, Roy just waited till I was ready to go on.

"See, Roy, I've kinda been having, well, flashbacks and stuff." _He was in 'Nam, he'll know what I mean_. "And you're sorta, um, in 'em."

He looked at the floor. "Oh."

I went on. "And the parts you're in – well, I'm not exactly havin' a good time, so..."

"So when you see me, you get anxious," he finished for me. He toed at some imaginary object on the floor.

And for several minutes, neither one of us could say anything.

"We gonna be able to work together when you come back?" As always, Roy headed straight for the origin of the fire, for the elephant in the living room.

I didn't really want to talk with him about the whole "put it in a box" thing, 'cause that was really feeling like it was between me and Cap. But I couldn't just _not_ deal with the fact that my partner, who was sitting right there next to me, was part of my, I dunno, _problem_. And it wasn't even his fault.

"If I can fix my head, would you even _have_ me back?" _There. I said it._

"Whaddaya mean, would I even have you back? Why on earth wouldn't I?" He looked puzzled. He _actually_ looked _puzzled_.

"Well, for one thing, who would want a partner who's liable to freak out at any second? Don't you get it, Roy? I'm nuts. Crackers. Ready for the loony bin." I waved circles around my ear with my finger to visually reinforce my point.

Roy couldn't help it – he just had to stand up and pace. "Well for one, the department won't let you back until you're fit – physically _and_ mentally. And, _**partner**_," he emphasized that word, "I have _no_ doubt in my mind that you'll make it back. I don't wanna minimize what you've been through, what you're going through. For cryin' out loud, Johnny, you pretty much got blown to kingdom come three days ago, and you're already signing yourself up for the nut house?"

I growled in frustration. "Do ya even remember, the other day, I flipped my lid 'cause of the smell of some _**EGGS?**_" I couldn't stand up and pace, but I could shout with the best of 'em.

Roy rolled his eyes. "Listen to yourself, Junior. That day? You didn't even know what it _was_ that was getting you so panicked. You couldn't even stop to think about what the smell mighta been – whether or not it was a threat, and whether or not it was even real. Today? You _know_ what it was. And I'll bet you _five_ _bucks_ that if I brought in a plate of eggs right now, you'd just say 'oh, eggs, yum, lemme at 'em!'"

"Oh _yeah_?"

"_**Yeah**_!"

By this point, we were glaring at each other, with arms crossed.

"Well all right, I'll _take_ that bet!" **What**_ did I just say? Crap._

"Fine! I'll be right back – _with eggs_!" Roy slammed his way out of the room, uncharacteristically noisily.

Shit. I had no idea what to do next. So I picked up the phone, which Mrs. Gibson's not-so-nifty counterpart on yesterday's shift had insisted I get activated since "we nurses have enough to do without having to be responsible for arranging your social calendar, Mr. Gage," and dialed Cap's number.

"Hi, uh, Mrs. Stanley? This is John Gage. I was wondering if Cap was around." _Hurry up, woman; get him, now, please!_

"Well hello, John. I was so sorry to hear that you got hurt. Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes ma'am, lots. Cap's been a big help. Thanks for lending him out. Uh, is he available?" I didn't want to sound desperate, but I _had_ to talk to him.

"Hold on, John; let me get him for you." She must've only partly covered the receiver with her hand, because I could still make out what she was saying. "Hank, it's your boy Gage, and I think you'd better pick up, because he sounds a bit edgy!"

Seconds later, Captain Stanley picked up the extension.

"John, what's going on?"

"Cap, it's Roy – he doesn't think I'm nuts, and we made a bet, and he's bringin' _eggs_! Any minute now!"

"Whoa, Bess! Slow down, Gage. What are you talking about?"

I explained as best I could, slowly managing not to sound like a raving lunatic. He listened without interrupting.

"All right, all right. You've got yourself real worked up, so the first thing is to try to calm down a little."

I tried to think about fishing in a mountain lake – about as far away from explosion and fire as you can get. That helped, a little, other times when people were telling me to calm down.

"Okay, Cap. Sorry, it's just, you know." _Back to my articulate self_.

"Yeah, son, I know. So, what do _you_ think you could do about these eggs?"

"Well I don't _know_, Cap! That's why I'm callin' _you_! I mean, you can't put a _smell_ in a box!"

He let me ponder for a few more seconds, and then did his magic. "It's still boxes, John. But it's harder for smells. Sounds – you can drown them out. Images – just open your eyes. But you can't make a smell go away – not if you want to breathe. Breathe through your mouth, and you'll taste it.

"You're right – you can't put a smell in a box. But you can still use your boxes. You can take the smell of those eggs, and you can say, 'it's just eggs.' You _keep_ the smell. But you take the _rest_ of the baggage that goes _with_ the smell, and put _that_ in a box."

_O...kay..._

"You still there, Gage?"

"Uh, yeah, Cap; sorry. Um, I think that sounds good. I, uh, better think about it for a bit before Roy comes back."

"Sure thing. Listen, you call me back if you need to, all right?"

"I will. Thanks, Cap." We hung up.

I tried it. "Keep the smell, box the baggage," I said to myself. I tried to think of an appropriate container. It had to be different from my "bone box."

I giggled –_ a little hysteria, John-boy?_ – and snapped my fingers. "Suitcase!"

I tried it out mentally – keep the smell, pack the baggage. Smell the eggs – just eggs, no big deal – and put the panic in the suitcase. _Okay, I can do it._

The door slammed open, and in came Roy, with a cafeteria tray. He stood there with that tray, holding it like it was a weapon that he didn't really want to use.

I could smell it right away: the smell you can't ignore, especially if you're a fireman, 'cause it means _danger_. Room filled with gas like that could blow at any –

Stop. It's _eggs_. _Smell_ the eggs. Keep the smell. What comes with the smell? Panic, BLAM! Slam into the wall, the banister – STOP. Those things – they go in _here_, in the suitcase, with the rest of the baggage. Close it.

My hands were shaking; I was breathing hard and I could taste blood in my mouth – guess I bit myself.

"Well?" said Roy.

"I owe you five bucks," I said shakily, "but I think I left my wallet in my other pants."

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own them, but Emergency Productions, Mark VII, and Universal TV do, and I don't make a dime.

I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway

Chapter 9.

I could smell the eggs without havin' a panic attack, but I still wasn't up to eatin' 'em – especially not with Roy lookin' at me while I did it. But he said I looked like I wasn't eating enough, so I reminded him that the stuff they serve patients here is practically inedible. So, good ol' Roy went down to the cafeteria, again, to get burgers and fries for the both of us. And, an extra-large chocolate shake for me – he reminded me I need extra calcium.

He insisted. I didn't have the heart to tell him that even though burgers and fries are at the top of my list, food-wise, I wasn't sure I could stomach _anything_ with him lookin' at me.

I guess I still need a lotta work.

* * *

The door swung open, this time the delicious smell of burgers wafting in instead of the slightly-less-troublesome-than-before smell of eggs.

Roy looked pleased with himself. "Okay, Junior – just what the doctor ordered. All your favorites. I know they're not from Dan's Burger Shack, but I've seen you put these cafeteria burgers away more times than I can count, so have at it." He swung the bedside table over, careful not to bump my cast, and plopped the food down in front of me. He settled himself down in the chair next to the bed with a satisfied smile on his face, and went to work on his own burger.

You'd think on a guy's day off, he'd wanna wear a shirt that was as far away from the regulation uniform shirt of the L.A. County Fire department as possible. But no, Roy had to go and wear a shirt that could've passed for regulation in an emergency. At least he was wearin' jeans, but that didn't really make it any easier to look at my partner without goin' wonky in the head.

And, sure enough, the wonkies showed up, right on schedule. I tried to pick up the burger, I really did, but my hands were shaking too hard, and I was starting to get queasy.

I watched Roy's smile fade as he was mid-chew. He could see it, yup – shaking hands, cold sweat, the works.

He set his burger down, and said, quietly and simply, "Okay, then, let's just talk."

I think that Roy is probably the most patient fireman I've ever known. Heck, he's probably one of the most patient _people_ I've ever known, period. He didn't push, didn't prod, didn't try to drag anything outta me. He just waited.

I couldn't look at him when I said it.

_I'm not ready for this part. __**Really**__ not ready_. I sighed. "I just don't know how to talk about it – not without soundin' like a girl or a wimp or somethin'."

I had to think for a minute. Why could I talk to Cap about the really horrific stuff, but not Roy? I mean, Roy was _there_ for the parts that were really awful from my perspective, but Cap wasn't.

_Oh. That's why. 'Cause Roy was **there**._

"Roy, I guess maybe you don't know this, but I don't remember anything between the blast itself, and being in the ambulance."

He thought about this. "So, you don't remember me splinting your leg?"

"Nope."

"Good."

"Yeah, that's what Cap said, too."

Roy cleared his throat. "So the first thing you remember is..."

"Well, I _thought_ I came to in the meat wagon. At first I thought _**I**_ was the paramedic, and there was some guy in agony and I wondered why nobody was doin' anything for him. Then I saw _you_, but you were up above me, lookin' down, and then I realized it was _me_ screamin' and hollerin', and then I saw bone sticking out of my leg." _Deep breath, Gage, slow down. _ "And I'd never been so scared in my entire life, Roy, 'cause when I woke up, all I knew was that I had a limb-threatening injury, and I was in so much pain I wanted to die."

Roy held his head in his hands. "Ah, geez, Johnny – I had no idea. We all thought you were awake way before that!"

"I dunno, maybe I _was_ aware of what was goin' on before that, but the memories just didn't take. I guess it's just that from my point of view, I saw _you_, and that sickening jagged bone, and felt the pain, and felt the terror, all at the same time. And all that is rolled together into a ball of panic inside my head, and I _can't_ get it _apart_!" I was shaking and breathing hard, and my stomach was in a knot.

With its usual extremely bad timing, the door chose that moment to swing open. Nurse Gibson was on duty again, and was coming in with my next dose of pain meds and a pile of clean linens. She took one look at me and Roy, and said, "All right, gentlemen, do I need to break this up?"

Roy just blurted it out. "I'm his best friend, and I treated him at the scene, and now he panics when he sees me!"

_Great, Roy, thanks a lot._

I let out a frustrated sigh and looked away. It seemed the whole world was gettin' to know that John Gage had turned into Panic Boy.

Nurse Gibson handed me my pills in one of those dumb little paper cups. There were three, instead of two.

"How come there's three?" I asked.

"Oh, Dr. Henry ordered a higher dosage for this afternoon, since he's going to be changing that cast later."

"Well, that oughta be fun." I knocked the pills back, with a water chaser.

"You know," said Nurse Gibson, as she covered me with an extra blanket and helped me over to one side of the bed, "you fellows remind of a good friend of mine. She's a school nurse in San Bernardino county, in a really rural area. She had a terrible car crash on her way in to school one day – multiple trauma, needed to be extricated. A volunteer firefighter at the scene, who was one of the people that extricated her, happened to be the gym teacher at her school. She said the hardest thing about going back to work after she recovered physically was seeing him every day." She deftly rolled the old sheets up to where I was, and tucked the clean sheets on the opposite side.

While she was getting me back over to the other side, which was now covered with cool, clean sheets, I thought about her friend's predicament. Not quite as extreme as my situation, but similar enough. "So what'd she do? I mean, she must've run into him all the time."

"Yes," replied Nurse Gibson, "she did. And what she told me, was that it just took time, and normalcy. Each time she encountered him in a normal, everyday situation, it was a little easier than before. And eventually, she realized that she wasn't reacting to him any differently than to anyone else." She tucked the clean sheet in on the other side and expertly helped me get centered again.

"Huh," said Roy. "Did he ever know anything about any of this?"

Nurse Gibson smiled as she tossed the old sheet on an empty chair. "Oh, I'd say so. A couple of years later, they got married. Right out of a fairy tale, but it's true."

I didn't miss a beat. "Well, Roy's _already_ married, so there goes _that_ plan."

"Ha, ha, very funny, Junior. But in all seriousness, Nurse, you think this, this... whatever it is... might just go away?"

"Well, I'm no psychologist," she replied, "but I don't see how it's gonna get any better if you avoid each other, that's for sure."

"The problem is, though, all the stuff we'd normally do? I can't do any of that stuff right now. I mean, lookit me! I can't even sit in a wheelchair for five minutes without havin' to go lay down again, and I sure as heck can't go camping, or fishing, or any of our normal stuff."

Nurse Gibson sighed as she handed me a clean gown and untied the ridiculous strings on the back of the old one. "Mr. Gage, one thing you're going to have to learn with this injury is _patience, _which I've come to believe, over the couple of shifts I've worked with you, is not one of your strong suits."

"I'll say," muttered my partner. I ignored him, since I was busy doing my new trick of changing hospital gowns under the covers without re-breaking my leg.

Nurse Gibson shushed him and continued. "You've had a serious injury, with complications, and a _lot_ of pain. Quite frankly, it seems to me you're doing amazingly well, all things considered, but you _are_ going to drive yourself crazy if you don't develop some reasonable expectations about your recovery time. And that includes emotional recovery time, which I know all of you tough guys like to pretend doesn't exist, but let me tell you, it does."

"Yeah," I grumbled, handing her the old gown, "yeah, I know."

Nurse Gibson inspected me intently for a few moments after fastening the back of my gown. "Yes, Mr. Gage, I actually believe you do. So if you can put that knowledge into practice, I think you'll do very well. You're young, strong, and fit, and I'm beginning to think you are actually quite intelligent, despite your and your friends' best efforts to present you as otherwise."

"Careful, Nurse, that's all gonna go straight to his head," cautioned Roy, "and if it gets any bigger, they're gonna hafta invent a new helmet size special for him."

I made a face at him. Real grown-up, I know, but it had to be done.

And then I realized – I'd just looked Roy straight in the eye, and I didn't feel any worse than I had thirty seconds ago. And for the first time, I felt like maybe I'd beat the panic. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday.

"Hey, Nurse Gibson?" I said, as she gathered up the pile of linens. "Thanks. I mean it."

She winked, and headed out the door.

"She's all right, huh," said Roy.

"Uh huh," I said, not wanting to push my luck.

"So, uh, why don't I step out so you can actually eat your lunch," Roy suggested, obviously uncomfortable with this reality.

"I hate to say it, but that's probably a good idea," I admitted. "But come back in like five minutes, okay?"

"Sure! Mind if I call the station while I'm out? The guys from the other shifts have been asking after you." He swung the table back over the bed so I could reach the now lukewarm food.

"Oh, that's fine, as long as you skip anything embarrassing."

"Great – back in five."

While I was eating, I thought about what Nurse Gibson had said. It seemed to make sense – that the way to get rid of an _abnormal_ association would be to get in as many _normal_ things as possible. Which, as I'd already realized, wasn't going to be easy at this point. Nothin' had been normal the last three days. Four days? I forget.

It actually took me only three minutes to wolf down the burger and fries. The shake took a little longer, but only because I kept getting brain freeze. You'd think the amount of narcotics in my system could prevent a stupid thing like an ice-cream headache, but no.

After I'd eaten, I realized this was the first meal I'd really been able to plow through in my normal way since I'd gotten here. _Baby steps, Gage, baby steps. _ Baby steps are patience, right?

Roy came back in, and brought with him an adrenaline reaction. "Well, C-shift is on today. I talked to Pete, and it only took three seconds from when he said it'd been a real quiet shift till they got toned out."

"Figures," I said – no fireman in their right mind says a thing like that.

There was one more thing I had to get into with Roy. No time like the present.

"Hey Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember you asked me earlier, if I was mad at you, and I said no?" That probably wasn't the best way to start, since he got that "uh-oh" look on his face. "I mean, I wasn't lyin' just now when I said I'm not mad at you. I'm not – not _now_. But I tell ya, back in the ambulance? I wanted to kill you." I waited for him to read me out – tell me what I already knew, that it wasn't his fault, there was nothing else he could safely do for me – defend himself in some way.

But he actually looked relieved, and all he said was, "I know."

"No, no, you don't _get_ it, Roy! I wasn't just _sayin_' I hated your guts, I _meant_ it. I meant every damned word I shouted at you. I despised you for letting me suffer, even though it's not like you had a choice. Hell, I woulda done all the same things as you, just probably not as well."

He said it again. "I know, Johnny, I _know_."

"You _know_ I _meant_ it? I mean, how could you _know_ that?"

"Well, I was talking about the whole thing with Joanne last night, and I said something along the lines of 'well, I know he didn't actually _mean_ any of that stuff,' and boy did she let me have it!"

_Huh?_

"Okay, Roy, I know I'm doped up an' all, but I'm not followin' you, pal." _To say the least._

"Joanne reminded me of the two times she'd ever said stuff like that to me. Not that she came _close_ to having as foul a mouth as you, Junior, but you get the picture. Once was when she had Chris, and the other time was when she had Jenny.

"And so I said to her, 'Of course you didn't _mean_ any of that, honey.' And ya know what she said to me? She said, and I'm quoting here, 'You bet your – ' well, maybe I better not actually quote. But the point is, she convinced me she _did_ mean it, at the time. And then, she convinced me that _you_ probably meant every word you said, too."

I had to jump in at that point. "But Roy –"

"Hold on, I'm not done yet. 'Cause the next thing she convinced me of, was that it didn't stick. And Jenny is the proof of that, really. 'Cause, well, you get it." He paused. "_Now_ I'm done." He sat there, with his arms folded, waiting again.

"She's right. As usual, Joanne is absolutely right. Can't argue with her logic, can we?" I said.

"No, I've learned that over the years."

We sat silently for a few seconds.

"So what I really wanna say, Roy, is sorry. Sorry I said all that stuff in the ambulance, sorry I hated you, sorry about all the crap that I've put you through in the last coupla days." I knew what he was going to say to that, but I had to say my piece anyhow.

"No more apologizing, Johnny, all right? None of this is your fault, and you know it and I know it." And to put an end to this whole line of discussion, he plopped a pack of cards on the table. "And, as long as you're still doped up, I'm gonna beat your pants off in gin rummy yet again."

"No, I don't think so."

"Ya wanna bet?" he said as he shuffled. "As soon as those pills kick in, you're hardly gonna be able to count any more."

"No, that's not it."

"Well, what, then?"

"No pants!"

**TBC**

A/N:

1. Thanks for all the R&R! It is so terrific to know that people are enjoying reading this!

2. As far as I am aware, there is no such place as "Dan's Burger Shack" except as a model train accessory. But these guys _have_ to have a favorite burger place, somewhere between the station and Rampart, right?

3. Pants are funny, but _no _pants? Even funnier.

4. There's one chapter to go, plus a short epilogue. (Though a companion piece does come to mind. Hmmm...)


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own them, but Emergency Productions, Mark VII, and Universal TV do, and I don't make a dime. And that's okay, okay?

I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway

Chapter 10: Fifteen days after Dixie's birthday

There are seven hundred and forty two dots on each ceiling panel in my room at Rampart. There are thirty two full panels, and a total of about six more made up from the partial ones at the edges. That makes twenty eight thousand, one hundred and ninety six dots.

More or less.

If I don't get out of here soon, I'm gonna go stark staring mad. Doc Henry set me three conditions to meet before I could get out. First, I have to be able to get myself out of bed, to the bathroom, and back again, on crutches. Check!

Second, I have to be able to go up and down a flight of stairs using a crutch on one side and the railing on the other, without having to stop. Almost there – yesterday I made it down a flight, and almost all the way back up. Close, but no cigar. I had to sit down on the third from the top step, and nearly pulled the orderly down the stairs when he helped me up. Whoops.

Finally, I have to convince both him and Nurse Gibson that I'm in a sensible frame of mind, and that I'll respect the limitations that my broken leg puts on me. I have to convince them that I would not only recognize when I needed help, but also ask for help when I needed it. Not sure how this one's goin'.

Checkin' out AMA isn't an option – the Department doesn't take kindly to that. I don't know what my chances are to get back to full duty, but I sure as heck ain't gonna blow it just for the sake of gettin' out a few days sooner.

If I were ever gonna teach new firemen how _not_ to get killed, probably the first rule I would make is "know your limits." I always was confident in my ability to do technical rescues of all sorts, including climbs, water, and – my specialty – tight squeezes. My physical strengths are – or _were_ – speed, agility, and skinniness.

But, I'm always aware that if what the situation really calls for is brute strength, John Gage is not the right guy. And that's fine – no one person could ever have each and every quality that would make the Perfect Fireman. So, we work together, as a team, with each man knowing who to look to for which qualities. And, we each know what the others' limits are.

But those are _limits_ – not _limitations_. There's a difference. At least, in my opinion. Which I value.

I've always thought of limits as being something you accepted, from the inside, but limitations were something placed on you from the outside, or something that you put on yourself for no good reason. And I have a giant, heavy, white plaster limitation wrapped around a flesh-and-bone limitation.

The slow physical progress is drivin' me crazy. But, speakin' of crazy, I got a roommate yesterday, and I told 'im the whole story without turnin' into a bowl full of jelly. He was only in for overnight observation. I'm pretty sure they made a point to not put someone else in here unless they had to – guess a lot of people think I'm pretty annoying. Which prob'ly means I'm gettin' better. I'll know I'm okay the first time the Phantom strikes for real again.

* * *

I was reading, later, when Roy stopped in. He's been coming by for a couple minutes after each run that brings him to Rampart. The first time he showed up in uniform wasn't pretty – closest I'd come to a full-blown panic attack since day two. But I made it – and it's gotten better. Still not gone, though.

"Hey, Johnny!"

"Oh, hey, Roy. What's goin' on?"

"Oh, nothing much. The kids are asking about you – do you think we could bring 'em by later? Maybe 3:30?"

It was about 0800 – so Roy musta gotten stuck with a long run at the end of the shift. He'd go home and catch some shut-eye, and be up in time to get the kids from school. The kids had been by a couple times, already, without incident. Jenny had covered my cast with flowers and critters.

"Sure, I s'pose I can work that into my busy schedule," I sighed.

"You sound more glum than usual, Junior. What's goin' on?"

"Nothin'. Absolutely _nothin_'. So much nothin' that I think the whole world could disappear and I wouldn't even notice."

Roy grabbed his usual chair, but leaned up against it rather than sitting down.

"Hey," I said, "dontcha have to get back to the station with, uh, whoever you're partnered with today?"

"Nope – Stevens is taking the squad back, and Joanne's gonna pick me up after she takes the kids to school. So you're stuck with me for half an hour or so. So whaddaya say we go do some stairs?"

"All right! Now you're talkin'!" I whipped back the sheets and grabbed the crutches. Since I could get myself to the latrine, I was allowed to wear civvies – shorts and a t-shirt – instead of one of those dumb gowns. It was an effort to get the heavy plaster cast off the pile of pillows propping it up, but at least I didn't flash anyone.

We did a fly-by of the nurses station, shouting "Stairs!" on the way to the stairwell. Nurse Gibson was used to my one-word status reports, and waved us on.

My usual stairwell was always empty, since it was right next to the elevators. "Here we go!" I stuck both the crutches under my left arm, grabbed the rail with my right hand, and started down. Roy was spotting me, and counting the stairs. "...fourteen, fifteen, sixteen and the landing!"

"Roy," I puffed, "I think I'm gonna make it all the way up this time!" I knew perfectly well that up was harder, but I was feelin' good! I reversed the crutches to the other side, and started up. "Down with the bad, up with the good," I chanted – my way to remember which foot goes where.

"...ten, eleven..."

My leg was throbbing, but I pushed through the pain. Was that smart? I didn't care.

"... fifteen... sixteen! Way to go, Johnny!" Roy thumped me on the back. He flung the heavy steel door open, ran through, and shouted onto Floor Six for everyone to hear. "Johnny made it! The whole flight – down and up!"

I stood panting on the landing as the fire door slowly closed in front of me.

Even though the door was thick and heavy, I could hear Nurse Gibson's reply. "That's nice, Mr. DeSoto, but where have you left him?"

* * *

Joanne came to get Roy shortly after we got me settled back in again. Nurse Gibson promised she'd get a hold of Doc Henry as soon as possible to tell him that Goal Number 2 had been met. And sure enough, he came in just before lunch.

"Okay, Mr. Gage – I hear you've conquered the stairs," he said, as he checked my toes. "Good circulation here – very good. How's the pain level today?" I was still taking the pills, but just one every 3-4 hours, not two tablets.

"Well, to be honest, it was about a six after I did the stairs, but it's back to about a three or four now."

"And what does that tell you?"

"I s'pose that when my leg is not elevated, it swells more, and that when I'm moving around, that's not so great either."

"Okay, and what does that tell you?" he prompted.

"That I should elevate as much as possible, and not run around unless I have to."

"Very good, Mr. Gage. Okay, let me tell you what's next. I want to get another set of x-rays after lunch. If those look good, and you can do the stairs again this afternoon, I will discharge you in the morning, on one condition." My heart leaped, then sank again as I wondered what the "condition" would be.

"Nurse Gibson will work with you on a discharge contract that will include certain tasks of daily living and how you will accomplish them, including who specifically you will ask for help with certain things." _Aw, geez_. "Let me be perfectly clear about this: I would not normally discharge someone with your type of injury for at least another few days, but at this point it appears that staying here may be doing you more harm than good. But I _cannot_ and _will_ not discharge you early unless I am completely satisfied that your arrangements are realistic and complete."

My initial thrill was dwindling as I asked, "What kind of 'arrangements' do you mean?"

"First of all, until I have you on weight-bearing, it is unsafe to shower without someone else in the house. You've shown excellent maneuvering skills, but the last thing you need is to take a spill and not be able to get help. True?"

"True," I admitted.

"Secondly, unless your culinary skills are far above what I hear is typical for firemen, and you can exercise those skills on crutches, you need people to bring you dinners. A steady diet of peanut butter and jelly on white bread will not heal that fracture."

Well, he's got my number. "Yeah, that and hamburgers are about my limit. And bachelor salad," I added as an afterthought.

"I hesitate to ask, but what exactly is bachelor salad?" Dr. Henry looked both puzzled and disturbed.

"You know, whack a head of lettuce into quarters, stand over the sink, and pour salad dressing right on it! No fuss, no mess."

"Oh, dear," he replied. "Another thing: errands. You won't be driving for quite a while, and for at least the first couple of weeks you won't be comfortable on a bus."

"Okay, I'm sure the guys at the station can help out with that," I replied.

"I believe you get the picture, Mr. Gage. And I'm happy to tell you that you just passed my test."

_Huh_? "Um, what test?"

"The attitude test. If I had heard one word about how you did not need to make any of these adjustments to your lifestyle, it would've been an automatic 'fail.'"

_Whew, that was a close one._

"Okay, so pending good results on the x-rays, which I will order for this afternoon, and pending Mrs. Gibson's approval of your plan, you can consider yourself a free man as of tomorrow morning."

"Far out, doc! Thanks!"

I couldn't believe it. I was gonna go home.

* * *

Nurse Gibson came in with a worksheet for me right after I had my x-rays taken. It had a whole list of stuff that people getting sprung from this joint might need a hand with. I was supposed to cross off the ones that didn't apply – like "get children to and from school" – and figure out how to handle the ones that did apply.

By then, it was early afternoon – a decent hour to call guys who'd just gotten off duty that morning. It didn't take long to get the guys to agree to help out with pretty much everything.

Except the cooking.

I really had no idea what I was gonna do about the food thing. 'Cause let's face it – firemen's cooking was _not_ what the doctor ordered. I couldn't ask Joanne – because if I did, she'd say yes, and then I'd be puttin' her out even more than I already was by borrowin' her husband all the time. Asking Mrs. Stanley – well, let's just say you don't ask your Cap's wife for favors – it's just not done. But if she offered, I'd surely say yes, because her cooking is out of this world.

I was getting so annoyed with the list that I broke the tip right off the pencil. Which then got me annoyed at the pencil, so I threw it across the room. It had asked for it, really.

"Knock, knock!"

"Hey, Dix, come on in!" She had a walking cast – lucky! "What're you doin' here? I didn't think you were back at work yet."

"Oh, Roy and Joanne picked me up on the way over. They'll be right up – they're just parking the car."

"So, you're really up and around! That must be great!"

"Well, yes, I can pretty much do anything except drive and work. Only two more weeks in the cast, though."

I wish.

"Hey, Dix, great news! If I can finish this thing –" I waved the worksheet in the air – "and if Nurse Gibson says it's right, I can get out of here tomorrow morning. If my x-rays look good."

Her jaw dropped. "Are you serious? That's terrific, Johnny!"

"Yeah," I continued, the excitement gone from my voice, "but didja hear all those 'ifs' in there?" I sighed.

"Well, it can't be that bad – it's just a discharge plan, right? Here, let me look." She grabbed the worksheet, and squinted, trying to decipher my chicken scratch. "You've got it all done except the cooking, it looks like. What's the problem?"

"Dix, ya see all the names on that paper? Firemen, every one of 'em. And you know how lousy their cooking is. And I won't ask Joanne – Roy's gonna be helping me out so much that I can't put her out any more. So I'm just plain stuck, is what!"

"All right, all right! Where's your pencil?" she asked.

"Over there," I grumbled, pointing to the far corner.

She hobbled over to get it. "Delicate touch, as usual." She picked some splinters off the smashed point, and said "That should work," as she wrote something on the paper. "There."

She handed the worksheet back to me.

The "meal preparation" blank had been filled in: "Dixie McCall."

"Seriously?" I said. _Wow_.

"Seriously. I can't come back here till I get the cast off, and I'm sure someone will be happy to run things over to your place a couple times a week. You can just put everything in the freezer till you need it."

"Far out! Thanks a million, Dix. Maybe I'll get me one of them newfangled microwave ovens – you know, cut down on dishes and heat things up faster."

"Good idea, Johnny," she said, just as the kids burst in, with Roy and Joanne not far behind.

"What's a good idea, Uncle Johnny?" asked Jenny.

"Well, Dixie's gonna make me some food to put in my freezer so I don't starve to death after I get outta here – which might be tomorrow! So I'm gonna get one of those new microwave things."

"Cool, a microwave! Ben Kaplan has one, and he says you can make sparks in it!" exclaimed Chris.

"You're getting out tomorrow? That's great!" said Roy.

"If," I said, "and that's a big IF, my x-rays are good and Mrs. Gibson approves my going-home plan."

As if magically summoned, Dr. Henry appeared, with a large manila envelope in his hand. "I see you have visitors – would you like me to come back later?"

"Well, that depends on whether you have good news, or bad."

He smiled – so far I'd only ever seen him serious. "Good."

"All right, then! Let's have it!" I couldn't believe it – I was almost out.

"Okay, it seems one of your hidden talents is growing new bone. Here's your x-ray from your first day here, right after the fracture was reduced. You can see the gap between the ends of the tibia. A pretty good reduction – clean break, but still a small gap. If it hadn't looked like this, I would've had to use some hardware to keep that bone together, but you were lucky.

"Now, here's today's – that shadow in the gap is new bone. Very rapid – you don't usually see this happen so fast in a compound fracture. So, Mr. Gage, this is very good news, okay?"

For once I didn't mind his overuse of "okay," because it really was okay. I was gonna go home, and I was gonna be okay.

Next morning, after I signed all my papers, they wheeled me to the door, and I was free. After everything I'd been through, it was almost a letdown to be out. Almost, but not quite. I knew it would be a long road – Doc said at least six months till I could be back to full duty, and Cap said I'd definitely have to get recertified. But I knew I'd make it down the road, no matter what bumps I hit. 'Cause I'm okay.

**The End.**

A/N: Oh, all right, I lied again. Ch. 11 is a short epilogue.


	11. Chapter 11: Epilogue

**I Don't Really Like Parties All That Much Anyway**

**Epilogue**

A couple months after I got back into the swing of things at work, it happened. I knew it would, some time, and I honestly didn't know how I'd handle it.

It was the middle of the afternoon, on a bright, clear day. Marco was cleanin' the dorms, Stoker and Chet were hangin' hoses, Roy was on KP, and I was stuck with latrines – not that I could blame Cap for stickin' me with that after what I said. Sometimes those things just pop out.

Somebody must've been thinkin' how quiet it was, 'cause there went the tones, and then the familiar voice of the County dispatcher.

"Station 51, Battalion 14, Truck 86: Gas leak. 1375 Underwood, cross street Barton. 1-3-7-5- Underwood. Time out: 1546."

Stoker slapped my back on his way to the driver's seat of the engine. Chet gave me a thumbs-up from the back of the truck. Getting into the squad, I was on autopilot – good thing I was riding shotgun as usual. I could see Roy watching me out of the corner of his eye as we drove to the address.

"You okay?"

My heart was pounding, and my hands were shaking. But only a little bit. "I'll be fine." _I think._

We were the first on scene – a three-story house that had been converted to apartments. Cap started shouting out orders. "Marco, shut off the mains. Kelly, lay a two-and-a-half to the main entrance, and then ventilate. John, Roy, see if anyone is still inside." As Truck 86 pulled in, he continued with instructions on the HT.

I was grateful that Cap didn't treat me like I was fragile. Relieved that he didn't try to protect me.

I could smell the gas – or I _thought_ I could. Didn't really matter which. I packed away the fear, stowed the panic, and locked up the baggage.

Roy and I grabbed our SCBAs and started to mask up. He pointed to himself and said "top down," and to me and said "bottom up" – our partner-ese for "I'll start at the top and work my way down, and you start at the bottom and work your way up." I was already masked, so I nodded and gave him a "thumbs up."

On the way in, I wondered – was Roy going top down to protect me? Maybe. I was okay with that.

We met on the second floor – nobody was in the building. Good time of day to have a gas leak. Roy gestured "all done" to me, and we headed down the staircase.

It was as we turned on the landing to go down the last flight that it happened. I stopped cold on the top step, feeling the banister through my thick leather glove. I was holding on tightly, waiting for it. Waiting for the flash, then the bang, the crash, the pain –

_No._

_Not today._

I felt Roy's hand on my shoulder. I took a deep breath, and went down that last flight of steps, nearly colliding with Chet, who was setting up a ventilation fan in the doorway. Once I was out the door, I broke the seal on my SCBA face mask, and sucked in a lungful of smelly, gassy air.

I'd never smelled anything so wonderful in my life.

**The End.**

**A/N: **The companion piece to this story is called "Grab and Go." It doesn't matter what order you read the stories in.


End file.
